RHett and Anne
by PrincessAlica
Summary: This is their wedding night from Rhett's perspective, and then the second chapter is that same night as seen through Anne's eyes written by my co-host Cornorama
1. Rhett

She stood there before him, trembling with what looked like a healthy mix of anticipation and fear. But his heart was not in this. He tried to convince himself that he longer was in possession of his heart, that his heart had been buried in Atlanta with Bonnie. But if he were going to be truthful, his heart was still with Scarlett. He did not want Scarlett to be in possession of it. He was still angry with himself for the manner in which he had behaved on that beach, in those wild moments of victory over death and the sea and he had succumbed to a passion that he was powerless to contain.

And yet here he was now, with another woman, calling another woman his wife. Anne was now Mrs. Rhett Butler. He moved across the room slowly, lacking his usual grace and predatory nature. But he felt very much like a predatory animal in the moment. He was taking something from someone who was sweet and benign, and undeserving of the misery that was sure to come. She was gentle and much more like Melanie Wilkes than Scarlett. But that was the problem, even married to another woman, it was Scarlett that he wished was in his arms. It was Scarlett that his mouth longed to taste of. Her sweet lips still were etched in his memory.

"Rhett." Anne whispered her name softly, still clutching her virginal white nightgown around her slim body.

"Mrs. Butler." he replied smoothly, hiding his treacherous emotions. He could utter that title, for it was Scarlett's, and he could imagine that it was still Scarlett that was sharing this night with him. It wouldn't be the first night that he lay in the arms of one woman with his mind still on Scarlett. Wasn't that what Scarlett had done to him for the whole of their married life.

But this wasn't fair to Anne. She didn't deserve this. Why had he been such a fool to think that his heart would ever belong to him again?

It was difficult for him to look her in the eyes. But she deserved to have a special night, she deserved much more than he had to give her. But finally he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. He tried to focus on the woman that he was holding instead of the woman that had a hold on him. He lowered his lips to hers and closed his eyes. Her responses were shy and and sweet and timid, and her embraces with him were lacking something vital. But he knew what they were lacking, Anne was not Scarlett. She did not stir in him the passions and emotions that Scarlett did so effortlessly and unknowingly.

But Anne was giving her all to him, not even understanding that there was a ghost in the room with them, haunting him beyond reason and time. And this ghost was so all consuming that he could only even act the part of the excited bridegroom to a small degree. His lifetime of card playing was at least useful Anne was not the woman he wanted. She never would be that woman. The woman he wanted was stronger, and yet in stature smaller and more fragile than Anne. How was it that she was both larger than life and yet no more than a wisp? He pulled away for a moment to stare into Anne's dark eyes soulful eyes. He had to remember that these were dark eyes and not pale green ones. It was a pair of jade green ones that he could never forget. But he pushed those thoughts aside. It wasn't that difficult to pretend, to hide within an illusion for her image was forever ingrained upon his soul.

His wife trembled in his arms, and he was reminded of all of the times that he had held a trembling Scarlett. The day at the jail came to the front of his mind, and then in equal clarity he saw her the night that they had fled Atlanta. Of course that avenue of thought brought him to their kiss. That first hot kiss that smoldered and ignited within him a hunger that had yet to be quenched. And so he kissed Anne, trying to dispel Scarlett's ghost and the memories of her from the room. He kissed his wife as if he were kissing Scarlett. And Anne tentatively responded, with a shyness and a meekness that was a rarely seen aspect in Scarlett, yet had been revealed to him in elusive moments that he had taken for granted.

. This was driving him wild. How was it that he couldn't even make love, couldn't even kiss the woman that was his wife without thinking of someone else, someone else whose memory was too engraved upon his heart.

He tried to lose himself in Anne's kisses, tried to drown out the memory of the past fifteen or so odd years of his life. In his distracted state tried to show Anne a tender, compassionate side that Scarlett would not recognize. He kissed her softly, knowing that in her innocence that she might be unaware of his preoccupation with his memories.

He led her to the bed, kissing her softly, all the while imagining how Scarlett might have reacted to him differently if he had been a more tender lover with her, if he hadn't hidden his heart, treating her with malice and cruelty. He wished that their life together had been different. He wished that his heart had not been filleted. He wish that he still possessed a heart to give to Anne. But a part of his heart had died with bonnie, and the other part was missing. His heart was still with Scarlett, where ever it was that she had disappeared to. Even now taking his wife's virtue from her, he remembered Scarlett. She could haunt him no more than if she were dead. She was ever present in this room, ever present in his mind and heart.

He could not identify when his heart had begun to beat again. He was unsure when he had realized that he could still feel love. But those feelings were again flaming in his heart, although he had tried desperately to push them away. The moment that he held the divorce papers in his hand, he knew that they were a mistake of epic proportions. But Scarlett had disappeared completely like vapor vanishes in the sun.

He still saw her. It seemed that she was everywhere. He had chased her down several times, only to realize that it was only a trick of the light. No. He had rid his life of her, only when hours before realizing that he would never be done with her.

Even as he moved over Anne, even as he consummated their marriage bed, he could not drive out Scarlett's ghost. It would always be about her. He could no longer hide the fact from himself. Scarlett was still the poison in his veins. He would never escape her. He just prayed that Anne would be none the wiser to it.

He tried to focus on Anne, who was timidly running her hands in his hair. He climbed onto her and took what she willingly gave him – crying out in pain as that one moment came that he had never had with Scarlett. He had lost that moment out to Charles Hamilton who didn't even understand how sacred that moment was. As he reached the pinnacle of sensations, he had to hold himself back from calling for her. And he finally slumped against her, wishing that it was Scarlett whose body was lying beneath him. For moments he could delude himself, allowing his mind to dwell on memories of other nights. He restrained himself tonight with Anne, just as much as he had restrained his emotions while making love to Scarlett. There was no going back now. And he eventually rolled over and pretended to sleep, trying to drive Scarlett away. But she would never be gone. Never would he make love again with anyone without the image of Scarlett before him.

And yet there had been a strange familiarity in way that Anne responded to his affections, a similar naiveté. For although Scarlett had already born two children by two different men by the time of their wedding night, she was still very lacking in knowledge of more than just the very basic details of the act of making love. And it was obvious as he held Anne that she was quite the innocent. He was stealing this from her, when he didn't love her. He liked her the ways in which she reminded him of Melanie, but that too was a paradox for he had never been attracted to Melanie Hamilton in that way. No, it had always been Scarlett. It would always be Scarlett. Everything in his life had been about her since the first day that he had seen her. And now he had married another woman to spite her. He was worse than she. But still it came back to her and the ghost of her memory. Always.


	2. Anne

Author's Note: This is not my writing, although I would love to claim it. This is the work of Cornorama who wrote it as a companion to my version of Rhett and Anne's wedding night, which I wrote thought Rhett's eyes. This is Anne's account of that same night.

She stood there before him, trembling with fear. She was afraid of this, awash in uncertainty and doubts. She had been trying all day to convince herself that he could love her. She wanted to believe that his heart was open, ready to welcome her and the children she hoped to one day give him.

But no, she saw clearly now, it was impossible for him to love her. It had never been possible, not when his heart only knew how to love Scarlett.

That he wished he no longer loved Scarlett, that was clear, but in equal measure was it clear that he still did and always would.

There had been something between them before she left. He was haunted by some memory, something vital that he would not share with her. She'd asked him once, and only once, if he wanted to wait. But he only kissed her forehead and told her that he had been waiting too long for her, all of his life.

How false those words sounded to her, how composed, but she wanted to believe that someone like Rhett Butler could love someone like her. She was plain and poor and nothing like Scarlett Butler. And there, she suspected, was the underlying reason that he was willing to marry her.

Earlier, when she'd been called Mrs. Butler by one of the maids, he had turned toward her, a glad and expectant look in his dark eyes. But when he only found her in the white dress Miss Eleanor and Rosemary had selected, the look in his eye faded and his expression became guarded. On her wedding day, her groom wished another occupied her place.

He moved across the room toward her, like a tiger stalking its prey. He was about to do to her what men had been doing to women since the time of Adam and Eve, but still she was afraid. Afraid and something more, something she was unable to put a name to. He was about to take something from her that to him, was without value, her virginity. She was so unlike Scarlett. Scarlett was so vibrant, so alive. She was passionate and Rhett loved her. He loved a woman who she was not. And tonight, even married to another woman, it was Scarlett that wanted.

Would he be thinking of her while they consummated their marriage? It wasn't too late, she could stop this. If she did, Rhett could annul their short lived union and go after Scarlett. It would ruin her for certain, but perhaps that disgrace would be worth self respect.

"Rhett," she whispered his name softly, her trembling hands knotting into fists, clutching her nightgown.

"Mrs. Butler," he replied. Looking into her eyes, his expression changed. "Anne, what is it?"

He had not said her name the way she'd imagined her husband would one day say it. She wanted to hear her name said with love. She wanted to be loved so desperately. She had thought he could love her, that he might be happy to be loved and admired but no, he didn't want her. Not the way he wanted Scarlett.

It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve this. Why had she been such a fool to think that he could learn to love her.

It was suddenly difficult for him to look her in the eyes. Was it that he was afraid she would note his lack of desire? Or, worse yet, was it because he did not want to look into her walnut brown eyes and be reminded how they were not green.

Oh Rhett, she wanted to cry, love me. Please, just love me. If you can find me some part of your heart I will make you so happy.

Finally, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms. He lowered his lips to hers and closed his eyes. His moustache tickled her lips and she suppressed the urge to giggle hysterically. Could he tell that she was uncomfortable? No, she thought, as he continued to kiss her, he was unable to tell that her shy responses were not motivated by shyness but by despair.

She was not Scarlett. From the way he kissed her, gently and without that sweet frantic need that she'd read of in novels, she knew that she did not stir in him the passions and emotions that Scarlett did.

She'd heard them once, arguing in Rhett's study when she was over visiting with Rosemary. Not wanting to eavesdrop, she'd begun to move away, but Scarlett's taunting words drew her back.

"You can deny wanting me till you're blue in the face, but I know differently. You want me, you have for years. You wanted me badly enough to marry me."

"I did indeed my pet, and now that I've had my fill of you, I believe its time for us to part company."

She laughed, pleasantly as if they were discussing the weather or a mutual acquaintance. "And if I do leave, what then? Marry some docile Charlestonian who'll give you perfect, mild mannered Charlestoian babies?"

His voice was low, a silken caress. If she were only to listen to his tone of voice, Anne would think he were discussing some trivial manner. One of little to no importance. But his words were as caustic as lye. "Will I find some mealy mouthed girl who'll only open her mouth to say yes and no? Is that what you're asking? Maybe I will my dear. Maybe I will and she and I will raise a passel of mealy mouthed brats. Poor Scarlett, first Ashley now me lured in by the charms of the meek and mild."

"Shut up," she growled, the kittenish purr gone now from his voice.

There was a rustling noise and then silence. Anne stood paralyzed; terrified that they would see her if she passed the slightly ajar door. Finally, summoning courage, Anne darted past the door, but not before she saw something she wished she hadn't.

They were kissing. But not in a way that would make her envy Scarlett or fantasize later about what it might be like to be the recipient of Rhett Butler's kisses. Their embrace seemed violent, almost primal in nature. Rhett's hand was curved at the back of Scarlett's head and Anne would have thought he was forcing her until she noticed that Scarlett's hands were threaded in Rhett's black hair.

Shivering lightly, Anne hurried down the hall in hopes that she could escape the Butler house without attracting notice.

He pulled away for a moment to stare into her dark eyes. Was he ever going to look into her eyes and be glad that they were dark eyes and not pale green ones? But she pushed those thoughts aside. Rhett was a gentleman. He'd made a bargain and she knew in her case, he would hold fast to their vows. Society would not forgive him a second transgression against its conventions.

There were three people in the bridal chamber, thought Anne sadly, herself, her groom and a ghost. It was a ghost that Rhett would not mourn because Scarlett was not dead; she was out in the world. Clever Scarlett was out there somewhere beyond his reach. She had ensured with her absence that she would never be far from the forefront of his thoughts.

There was a sudden, strange look on his face and she trembled lightly, afraid that he would push her away.. He kissed her again, as if trying to dispel  
her supposed fears.

His embrace changed then, and he was kissing her as if he were happy to have her in his arms, kissing her as if he were glad to call her his wife. Several minutes passed before she realized he was kissing her as he must have once kissed Scarlett.

It was breaking her heart. How would he love her if he couldn't even kiss the woman that was his wife without thinking of someone else, someone whose memory was consuming him slowly but surely.

He began to kiss her softly, tenderly. Was this how he kissed Scarlett, once upon a time? Was he gently and loving before things soured between them? She wished she could asked him when and why things changed between them? They must have been so happy once, so in love. He hated her passionately, just as he must have once loved her with an equal passion.

He took her hand, leading her to the bed. She wished that their life together could have started differently. She wished that his heart was free to love her. His heart was still with Scarlett, where ever it was that she had disappeared to. Was it foolish to convince herself she could be content with a shadow of love, a pretense at caring?

But then, suddenly all thoughts of Scarlett and Rhett were thrust from her mind. He had whispered to her that he was going to hurt her but that it would only hurt for a short time. Her body tensed at the mention of pain. Her own mother was in her grave ten years in the fall so there had been no one to prepare her for what would happen when Rhett took her to bed.

He pushed into her, tying no doubt to be gentle, but still her fragile barrier tore and she cried out, wanting this moment back. She wanted desperately to turn back the clock to the afternoon of the picnic, the afternoon that sealed both their fates.

He murmured some nonsensical words of comfort, telling her to be brave, it wouldn't hurt for long. At least he seemed to be trying to focus on her, she told herself hopefully. She reached up, running her hands through his hair in an attempt to force herself to be a part of her own wedding night.

Then, he whispered something, just one word, a name. It was clear from the expression on his face that he was unaware of his slip. There was  
no going back now. Eventually, he rolled over and pretended to  
sleep. His breathing eventually became even and she knew that he finally was asleep. Slowly, she managed to move to the side of the bed, and then, holding her breath, she slid from the bed that had just witnessed the defiling of her body.

Scarlett would never be gone. Rhett would make love to her without the image of  
Scarlett before him. The pain in her heart was far worse than what he'd just taken from her.

But perhaps in time, she might learn to please him. She was still very lacking in knowledge of more than just the very basic details of the act of making love. Even those details were newly acquired.

Climbing back into his bed, now theirs, she cautiously ran a hand down his back, thinking that he might at least hold her. Perhaps she would derive some comfort from being held.

He murmured something softly at her hesitant touch. Feeling terribly unsure, but still hopeful, she whispered "Hold me Rhett."

"Scarlett," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm here," he whispered in her hair before drifting off to sleep.

She thought that he could in time love her. But that was impossible. It had always been Scarlett. It would always be Scarlett. From the rumors she'd heard, everything in his life had been about her since the first day that he had seen her. And now he had married another woman, probably to spite her. He would never love her just as she was, but he might come to be fond of her. And if she were to present him with a child, then perhaps they could form a bond through their love of that child.

Still, it hurt to know that it all came back to her and the ghost of her memory.

Always and forever.


End file.
